


rose arcana

by allmywill



Category: Arcadia (UK Band), Duran Duran
Genre: Drawing, Intimacy, Lust, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Roses, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmywill/pseuds/allmywill
Summary: It starts with a rose.
Relationships: Nick Rhodes/Roger Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	rose arcana

**Author's Note:**

> i was craving some RoNi. safe to say this satiated my needs for Arcadia era fun.

_1985_

_Paris, France_

It starts with a rose.

It starts as an innocent sketch of the delightful flower on Nick’s hand, Roger next to him. So close. He can feel his warmth, his body radiating heat.

It could be from the drumming. _Yeah_ , Nick thinks to himself. _All that playing would make anyone work up a sweat._

He focuses on the feeling of the felt tipped pen gliding along his skin, getting lost in it. He watches the rose materialize, petal by petal, ink running over his tender veins. Red meets blue. Red covers blue. A temporary creation comes to be.

Nick doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until his lungs begin to ache.

Roger finishes the rose. He’s too quiet, even for him. He admires his work, drawing back for a brief moment, though not for long.

His touch returns as a gentle caress, his fingertips gracing the back of Nick’s hand. He earns Nick’s heavily lined gaze. Their eyes meet, still with a tinge of innocence. But they are veering towards something else. It’s becoming quite clear.

Nick’s painted pink lips part. He doesn’t break their eye contact, he doesn’t dare. Hypnotic feelings swirl within him, a spell has been cast upon him, it seems. Maybe it’s the music. Maybe it’s everything.

Moments drag by in waves of heat, flashes of a mutual wanting so poorly ignored. Roger turns his body and his hand drops to his thigh, veering further from the innocence the rose first suggested.

“ _Roger_.” His name drops from Nick’s lips so carelessly, like a fallen petal from a beautiful flower.

He succumbs to his touch. He melts underneath it, breaks apart and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Lost innocence never felt so good, never so freeing. The rose inked on his hand is forgotten for the moment. Luckily, forgotten things do not fade so easily. Not always, at least.

In another moment, Nick’s clutching the front of his shirt and pulling him in. He wastes his perfected lipstick on a kiss that he feels from head to toe. It’s _so_ worth it. The fire spreads from his chest and moves south, blossoming so sweetly, so elegantly.

Roger tilts his head and Nick nibbles on his bottom lip. He grows less calculated in his movements and much more haphazard, hoisting himself into the drummer’s welcoming lap.

The pen falls to the floor uncapped. Roger’s callused hands grip Nick’s thighs tight like a holy virtue. Their mouths do what they were desperate to do all session long; nipping, sucking, biting where it counts. Such neediness clouds their minds, pushing them closer together. Impossibly close.

Smudged lipstick is the least of Nick’s worries. He pulls away to find it all over Roger’s mouth and it makes him smirk. He reaches up and runs his thumb over his lip. It’s warm and wet. He smiles underneath the keyboardist’s touch.

He knows. They both know.

Kisses grow hasty, and fast. Buttons are loosened by dexterous fingers and marks are left before they realize they can only go so far in the here and now.

After all, it is around the time to call it a day. The studio will be waiting for them tomorrow, same time. Right now, there’s a bed a few blocks away calling their names.

They both know very well.

A cab takes them to their home away from home. _But where is home, really?_ Nick doesn’t have the time to wonder, because Roger is there and he’s touching him and he needs it more than he could ever convey to him. The quick escalation of the mood between them seems as though it was bound to happen. 

It’s been hours since ‘bonjour’ graced their ears, the night growing later. The sky is midnight blue and the streets are busier than normal, more hustle and bustle.

French words foreign to them are formed in passing, conversations deep as they walk along in the warm night. The night people are about, flaunting their fashions, their beauty. Nick doesn’t pay attention to them like he normally would.

He instead clutches onto Roger’s arm tightly as they walk through the door. He rejoices when it shuts behind them. He wastes no time dragging him to his bedroom, the rose on the back of his hand forgotten for the moment. But it’s still there, and will remain.

The rose witnesses the hurried undressing of each other, hands fumbling and hardly calculated. It doesn’t matter. It’s enough for the moment, it’s everything.

Roger’s hands cradle him. They take care of him. He leaves fingerprints upon his bare hips, trailing up his back, teasing just enough to drive him closer. Sweet kisses are left on his warm skin, black hair being pushed back to access more of it.

Nick can’t get enough. Every touch only makes him want more, and more he will get.

Their bodies greet the bed, finally. Their touches grow less methodic as Nick is pushed onto his back. Seeing Roger hovering over him like this is something he could surely get accustomed to.

Breaths become heavy as slick fingers are introduced, dipping low and inching inside. Another hand caresses him, holds him in place as he works. Nick keens with the new ache; Roger knows just how to please him, in every way.

“ _So beautiful, Nick,_ ” Roger utters, voice rough with arousal. It’s music to Nick’s ears.

He always knew Roger would treat him well. But there’s an edge to it, a bit of roughness mixed in. His hands are warm and the delightful friction sets his skin aflame.

Nick grows impatient. His made up eyes follow Roger’s facial features: his dark pupils, his flushed cheeks, his pursed lips.

They both know.

Fingers are replaced by his member, pulsating deep inside him. Kisses get sloppier, their mouths missing one another in favor of little moans to slip through their parted lips.

Roger thrusts and Nick swears he sees stars. He rakes his nails up his muscular back, moving with him, so in time. One hand drifts to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the longer pieces of hair that fall there.

Roses fill Nick’s mind: fine, delicate things he knows Roger would give to him, as well as this. Of course.

He wraps his legs around him, bringing him closer, still. Moaning in his ear, he punctuates each movement with his breathy voice. So low, they both know.

Heat rises to a scorching intensity. Nick feels him everywhere, every muscle and every vein. He doesn’t want this to end, though he knows he won’t last much longer. Roger knows just what he likes, what he needs.

A deep thrust electrifies them both, urgency throbbing between them. Nick cries out in ecstasy, releasing with his lips against the shell of his ear.

Roger follows after, Nick tight around him sending him over the edge. Their sweat slick skin sticks, catching on one another before they get the chance to pull apart.

It ends with a caress of the rose on the back of Nick’s hand, and then a subtle kiss. It’s a little smudged, red ink running from the dampness of his skin. But it’s still there.

Innocence lost between the petals, neither of them mind at all. Maybe this doesn’t have to be temporary.


End file.
